内河航程 英文版 An Inland Voyage
罗伯特.路易斯.史蒂文森 Robert Louis Stevenson
AT LANDRECIES
At Landrecies the rain still fell and the wind still blew; but wefound a double-bedded room with plenty of furniture, real water-jugs with real water in them, and dinner: a real dinner, notinnocent of real wine. After having been a pedlar for one night,and a butt for the elements during the whole of the next day, thesecomfortable circumstances fell on my heart like sunshine. Therewas an English fruiterer at dinner, travelling with a Belgianfruiterer; in the evening at the cafe, we watched our compatriotdrop a good deal of money at corks; and I don't know why, but thispleased us.
It turned out we were to see more of Landrecies than we expected;for the weather next day was simply bedlamite. It is not the placeone would have chosen for a day's rest; for it consists almostentirely of fortifications. Within the ramparts, a few blocks ofhouses, a long row of barracks, and a church, figure, with whatcountenance they may, as the town. There seems to be no trade; anda shopkeeper from whom I bought a sixpenny flint-and-steel, was somuch affected that he filled my pockets with spare flints into thebargain. The only public buildings that had any interest for uswere the hotel and the cafe. But we visited the church. Therelies Marshal Clarke. But as neither of us had ever heard of thatmilitary hero, we bore the associations of the spot with fortitude.
In all garrison towns, guard-calls, and reveilles, and such like,make a fine romantic interlude in civic business. Bugles, anddrums, and fifes, are of themselves most excellent things innature; and when they carry the mind to marching armies, and thepicturesque vicissitudes of war, they stir up something proud inthe heart. But in a shadow of a town like Landrecies, with littleelse moving, these points of war made a proportionate commotion.Indeed, they were the only things to remember. It was just theplace to hear the round going by at night in the darkness, with thesolid tramp of men marching, and the startling reverberations ofthe drum. It reminded you, that even this place was a point in thegreat warfaring system of Europe, and might on some future day beringed about with cannon smoke and thunder, and make itself a nameamong strong towns.
almostentirely of fortifications. Within the ramparts, a few blocks ofhouses, .
The drum, at any rate, from its martial voice and notablephysiological effect, nay, even from its cumbrous and comicalshape, stands alone among the instruments of noise. And if it betrue, as I have heard it said, that drums are covered with asses'skin, what a picturesque irony is there in that! As if this long-suffering animal's hide had not been sufficiently belaboured duringlife, now by Lyonnese costermongers, now by presumptuous Hebrewprophets, it must be stripped from his poor hinder quarters afterdeath, stretched on a drum, and beaten night after night round thestreets of every garrison town in Europe. And up the heights ofAlma and Spicheren, and wherever death has his red flag a-flying,and sounds his own potent tuck upon the cannons, there also mustthe drummer-boy, hurrying with white face over fallen comrades,batter and bemaul this slip of skin from the loins of peaceabledonkeys.
Generally a man is never more uselessly employed than when he is atthis trick of bastinadoing asses' hide. We know what effect it hasin life, and how your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating.But in this state of mummy and melancholy survival of itself, whenthe hollow skin reverberates to the drummer's wrist, and each dub-a-dub goes direct to a man's heart, and puts madness there, andthat disposition of the pulses which we, in our big way of talking,nickname Heroism:- is there not something in the nature of arevenge upon the donkey's persecutors? Of old, he might say, youdrubbed me up hill and down dale, and I must endure; but now that Iam dead, those dull thwacks that were scarcely audible in countrylanes, have become stirring music in front of the brigade; and forevery blow that you lay on my old greatcoat, you will see a comradestumble and fall.
And now, when we left the cafe, we were pursued and overtaken atthe hotel door by no less a person than the Juge de Paix: afunctionary, as far as I can make out, of the character of a ScotsSheriff-Substitute. He gave us his card and invited us to sup withhim on the spot, very neatly, very gracefully, as Frenchmen can dothese things. It was for the credit of Landrecies, said he; andalthough we knew very well how little credit we could do the place,we must have been churlish fellows to refuse an invitation sopolitely introduced.
The house of the Judge was close by; it was a well-appointedbachelor's establishment, with a curious collection of old brasswarming-pans upon the walls. Some of these were most elaboratelycarved. It seemed a picturesque idea for a collector. You couldnot help thinking how many night-caps had wagged over thesewarming-pans in past generations; what jests may have been made,and kisses taken, while they were in service; and how often theyhad been uselessly paraded in the bed of death. If they could onlyspeak, at what absurd, indecorous, and tragical scenes had they notbeen present!
The wine was excellent. When we made the Judge our complimentsupon a bottle, 'I do not give it you as my worst,' said he. Iwonder when Englishmen will learn these hospitable graces. Theyare worth learning; they set off life, and make ordinary momentsornamental.
There were two other Landrecienses present. One was the collectorof something or other, I forget what; the other, we were told, wasthe principal notary of the place. So it happened that we all fivemore or less followed the law. At this rate, the talk was prettycertain to become technical. The Cigarette expounded the Poor Lawsvery magisterially. And a little later I found myself laying downthe Scots Law of Illegitimacy, of which I am glad to say I knownothing. The collector and the notary, who were both married men,accused the Judge, who was a bachelor, of having started thesubject. He deprecated the charge, with a conscious, pleased air,just like all the men I have ever seen, be they French or English.How strange that we should all, in our unguarded moments, ratherlike to be thought a bit of a rogue with the women!